


The Grape-Flavoured Reunion

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, there's <a href="https://twitter.com/BBCOne/status/311105500215406593/photo/1">this (spoilerfree) picture of the Sherlock S3 readthrough</a> all over the internet today, and my mind immediately pointed out that I hadn't read any reunion fic featuring grapes. So I wrote one.</p><p>Written flashfic-style, unbetaed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grape-Flavoured Reunion

The note was inside John's bag of grapes. It had been folded up small and then tucked right in the centre of a bunch, so that he didn't notice it until he'd eaten half the bag. Even then he just thought it was his shopping receipt. When he pulled it out though, he realised the paper was far too thick for a receipt, and unfolded it rather than threw it away.

 _BBRSH_ was all it said.

John tried to examine it as if he were Sherlock but he couldn't make any deductions about it. He found himself hit with the all-too-familiar wave of grief that he'd never be called an idiot for failing to deduce 'obvious' facts again. Eighteen months, and he still wasn't ready to live in a world without Sherlock's insults and displays of brilliance.

He nearly threw the paper away anyway as just a piece of rubbish, but as he crumpled it, the 'SH' caught his eye and he stalled. 

"He's dead," he said out loud to himself, trying to sound convinced.

The problem was that he'd never been completely convinced of that fact. Oh, he'd acted as if he was, because everyone knew that denial was just a stage of grief that needed to be worked through, and he didn't need them all to tell him that, thank you very much. Still, he couldn't shake the sensation that Sherlock was too clever, too outrageous, too... _Sherlock_ to just leap from a roof like that. There had to be something more, something that would make sense of the whole thing.

He was already on the internet, checking his email as he snacked on the grapes, and it didn't take much to open a Google window and type in 'BBRSH'. Nothing. Well, the 'SH' would just be the signature, right? He tried 'BBR'.

That brought up a website about a wine merchants in Pall Mall that John could remember going to visit with Sherlock when he'd needed to buy a Christmas present for Mycroft. 

"If I don't get him something, he'll assume that means I owe him a favour," he'd said tetchily, and then bought a bottle that cost far more than John would have spent on a whole case of wine.

"Jesus," John had said as they'd left the shop. "Don't think I'll ever get used to spending that much on something like that." He'd found out how much Sherlock's shirts cost only a week or two before, and was having problems getting his head around it all.

Sherlock had thrown him a quick glance, then a quirked smile, and handed him the card he'd used to pay for the wine.

 _Mr. M. Holmes_ it had read. John had stared at it, then laughed. "You used his credit card to pay for his Christmas present?" he'd asked.

Sherlock had just shrugged. "It's the thought that counts, surely?"

It wasn't until they'd got back to the flat and John was examining the bottle, trying to work out what was so expensive about it, that Sherlock said, in the casual voice he used when he was trying to pass something off as meaning little to him when actually it was rather important, "One day, when we've had a particularly lucrative case, we'll go back there and I'll buy you some really decent wine. Everyone should get drunk on something really expensive at some point in their life."

John had laughed and readily agreed, but they'd never done it. Sherlock had died six months later, leaving John alone.

He took a deep breath. Well, time to see if there was anything in this, then.

 

He took the note with him to Berry Bros. & Rudd's Wine Shop, and after a moment's thought, the grapes as well. If this was the start of some convoluted trail of clues, god only knew what he'd need to solve them. Besides, he was still hungry.

The tube seemed to take forever and he tried to distract himself from the mounting tension by throwing the grapes up and attempting to catch them in his mouth. He was not as successful as he could have been, but repeatedly hitting himself in the eye with a grape did at least entertain the small child sitting opposite him.

When he finally got to the wine shop, it was quiet. The sales assistant looked John up and down and then gave a little frown that said too much about what he thought John could afford to pay for wine. John gave him a bland smile in return and set out to explore the series of small, wood-panelled rooms that made up the shop.

He was in the Finest Reserves room when an all-too-familiar voice came from behind him. "Mind if I have a grape?"

John spun around to find Sherlock, wearing a cardigan and flat cap and giving him a nervous look that widened into a broad grin as if he could not help himself when he saw John's face.

John stared, then dropped his grapes in order to engulf the man in a hug. "You utter, utter bastard," he choked out.

Sherlock clung to him with just as much strength. "I know," he muttered. "I am sorry, John."

"You just-" said John, then pulled away so that he could look at Sherlock properly and make sure it was really him. "God," he said. "Don't ever do that again." He was clinging to Sherlock's shoulders with a grip that must have hurt, but he couldn't seem to make himself let go.

There was a delicately cleared throat in the background. "May I help you with anything?"

"Yes," said Sherlock without turning to look at the assistant. "I'd like a bottle of the 1995 Chateau la Conseillante, Pomerol."

"Ah, of course," said the man.

John found it very difficult to let go of Sherlock's arm during the whole procedure of getting the bottle out of the locked display case, taking it to the till and paying. He couldn't believe that Sherlock was actually there, alive and tangible.

He did find himself distracted when the price of the bottle flashed up on the card machine, though. "Jesus fucking Christ," he said, earning himself a hard glare from the shop assistant. "Is Mycroft paying for this one as well?"

"Unfortunately not," said Sherlock, entering his PIN. "However, I did promise you a chance to get drunk on something truly expensive. I think this seems like an excellent occasion to do so."

John let out a half-laugh. "Yeah, okay," he said. "I suppose you do owe me for- well, for everything."

"Excellent," said Sherlock with a grin, taking the bag with the wine from the shop assistant and turning to the door. "Then let us go and get rat-faced."

John choked with laughter, and scurried after him, overwhelmingly grateful to have his madman back.


End file.
